It Can't Rain all the Time
by WitheringSage
Summary: Raja and her Uncle Ardeth arrive in Britain, where she meets Tristan, Lancelot and the rest of the knights.TristanOC, LancelotOC
1. Chapter 1

This is a series. Raja is a recurring character. It spans from the time she is 8 years old and up. Tristan and she are the main couple, and over time their relationship develops, along with Raja's and Lancelot's, (who is her cousin.) And with the help of her Uncle Ardeth, they grow.

**It Can't Rain All the Time**

_We walked the narrow path,  
beneath the smoking skies.  
Sometimes you can barely tell the difference  
between darkness and light.  
Do you have faith  
in what we believe?  
The truest test is when we cannot,  
when we cannot see._

Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.

Since the day she and her Uncle Ardeth docked at Glevum, the island of Britain was either cloudy, drizzling or raining. She had never seen so much rain in her life. It made the tips of her fingers numb, her hands clammy. Two Medjai came with Raja and her Uncle Ardeth to Britain as guards. Raja rode in front of her uncle on his horse, Ra, as they trotted into the courtyard. Only clouds were in the sky as she snoozed against her uncle, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, the hood over her head. When they came to a stop her eyes fluttered open. Ardeth dismounted first, and then took his little niece into his arms. He knew, despite the fact that she had not walked any, she was tired.

The little Egyptian wrapped her arms and legs around her uncle, only her eyes were visible over his shoulder. There were not too many villagers around, maybe because of the weather she had thought. Nevertheless, the ones that were there looked on with expressions she recognized – the same faces that would look on when her father and uncle would ride back into the Colony on their big steeds. One difference: the people at this fort looked on as if they were seeing something for the first time. Her eyelids were heavy as she blinked, she lowered her head down further against her uncle so less of her face would show.

Someone led the horses away, and the two Medjai followed Raja and Ardeth into a building. Raja's only viewpoint was over her uncle's shoulder, and she was too frightened to lift her head up and look around. It was all very different than Egypt. The voices around her seemed to make no sense. And whatever structure she was in was dark – at least to her.

"I apologize Arthur, she is quite tired," she heard her uncle say.

"No apologies necessary," a deep, understanding voice replied.

Their brief words flew by her, and then her uncle took her up some stairs, down a hall, where torches flickered. One of the Medjai opened a door.

"Raja," her uncle said, "I am going to set you on the bed now, all right?"

The little girl mumbled something, not wanting to let go, but she must have for she felt herself upon a soft surface. She finally took in her surroundings with more care. Raja saw a trunk – which she recognized to be hers after a few moments – at the foot of the bed. The bed was neatly made, the material soft under her fingertips. Her uncle closed the door and bent near the fire place, kindling it to fiery flames. She sat quietly on the bed, hands placed on her lap. Ardeth took her cloak off, then her boots, and jacket.

"Would you like rest or food first, little one?"

Raja gazed into her uncle's gentle eyes. The only person she had left in the world. He had suggested going to Britain, telling her that a relative of her late father's resided here. Her cousin, Lancelot. The same name her father had. She missed her _baba_. And her mother. Her heart was heavy thinking of them. Ardeth had told her that her cousin was sixteen and had been serving in the Roman legion for near three years. She had taken it all in slowly, processing the information piece by piece. Sarmatian kin? Her father's people? She had never met any other Sarmatian save for her father, but he had told her so many stories of his family and homeland. He would speak to her in Sarmatian, her mother would converse with him in that language as well. Raja didn't much care where she went, just as long as her uncle was there, she would go to the ends of the earth with him.

"Sleepy," she replied.

He smiled and nodded, and got her prepared for a nap. It was only midday, and despite the fact that she had yet to meet anyone, he hoped that she would sleep for a good length of time. Had it not been for the arduous journey, it would have taken her longer to fall asleep, but now, it only took a few moments before her eyes closed tight, her breathing gradually becoming steady.

Ardeth quietly unpacked some of her things that had arrived days earlier. It would be unwise, he knew, to leave the room and risk the chance of her waking up in a strange place alone. Slumber was a chore for his niece now. Nightmares plagued her, but for some time she had been able to sleep in a room by herself. He had debated whether or not to bring her here. Ardeth knew Lancelot had always wanted his daughter to meet his side of the family, but as long as Rome was in Sarmatia, Lancelot had said, no child of his would set foot there. The man had never wanted his child snatched away from him as he had been from his family. The Egyptian hoped he was doing the right thing. Her life in Egypt was stagnant. The Colony was being repaired, she had no friends, and even if she had, they would most likely be dead or moved to another area.

After he finished putting her clothes in the drawers provided, he set about putting some carved trinkets atop the fireplaces. Quietly, he worked, arranging things here and there, wanting to make her room as comforting as possible. When he had done as much as he could, he sat by her bed near the window, and watched the clouds go by.

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"What'd she look like?" Lancelot asked Arthur.

The two men were in Arthur's study. Lancelot had not gone out to greet Ardeth or his...cousin. He would never tell anyone, but it unnerved him to know that he was seeing a blood relative, any blood for the first time in years.

"I did not quite see her face," Arthur replied, "she was very...small, and had her head buried in Ardeth's shoulder."

"He was carrying her?" Lancelot asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Yes, he said she was very tired."

He snorted. "Tired or not. Carrying her around like some noble brat."

Arthur scrutinized his friend closely. Despite the caustic remarks he had been making, referring to his cousin as "noble", as if it were something sinful, he could tell that Lancelot was nervous. "Lancelot, she has been through very much. Ardeth wrote about her health and her present state."

He nodded dismissively. "She lost her parents."

Arthur's mouth set in a firm line. "She watched her mother die, Lancelot. When she was not but seven years of age."

He hid his wince. Watched her mother die. The last time he had seen his mother she was very much alive.

"I also doubt Ardeth would appreciate you calling his niece – your cousin – a brat. You don't even know her. And, Ardeth is of noble blood, and he has never been disdainful or patronizing to anyone."

Lancelot sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair haphazardly. "What the hell am I supposed to say to her? What am I supposed to do with an eight year old cousin?"

Arthur didn't answer. They were interrupted by a bland knock on the door. Tristan came in when Arthur answered, his face set in his usual flat feature. He was muddy, and wet, having just returned from a routine patrol around and about. Checking in was required.

"You're safe?" Arthur asked.

"I'm here," Tristan replied.

The Commander smirked at his scout's usual wryness. When the man was just about to walk off, Arthur spoke: "Tristan."

He turned around, simply waiting.

"Ardeth arrived a few hours ago with his niece and two of his soldiers."

Tristan glanced briefly at Lancelot.

"She was sleeping when they arrived and has yet to awake."

"What does this have to do with me?" he asked.

"We're all to bow down and wait on her hand and foot," Lancelot quipped.

Tristan ignored him. He was too cold, wet and tired to listen to any more of Lancelot's whiny complaints about his cousin.

"Nothing," Arthur said, ignoring him as well, "I was just informing you as I did Bors and Dagonet."

Tristan nodded and left. He walked down the hall and up the stairs, the same corridors he had become so familiar with over the years. He knew them so well he could walk backwards with his eyes closed and not bump into a thing. As he headed towards his room he thought he heard a cry coming down from another passage. He knew it was where Ardeth stayed when he visited. His room wasn't too far off either. When he heard it again, his feet followed until he came to the door where the noise was coming from. A child's sobs sounded behind the door, hitting his chest at the agony he heard. Almost hypnotized, his hand turned the knob, opening the door just a pinch. He saw Ardeth holding a small person – whom he assumed to be Lancelot's cousin – cradling her. Her hair was black as midnight, a white streak on one side. She mumbled in a different language, incoherent. Ardeth was saying something to her in the same tongue. Tristan saw it was soothing the girl, her cries winding down like a violent storm to a misty dew.

Tristan could not help staring through the crack in the door. Such unabashed sorrow surrounded her as Ardeth crooned and comforted whatever ills were plaguing her. When she finally quieted, her eyes opened. And even though they were red-rimmed from crying, Tristan could see the grey of her irises. He was struck still when her eyes moved to the door, staring through the opening right at him. He closed it quickly and as quietly as he could, moving down and through the halls to his room. He stoked the fire in his quarters before stripping himself bare. He took the wash bowl and a cloth, wiping himself down. His hair could wait, the rain had given it a decent enough wash. He realized he didn't have any clean clothes handy.

"The hell with it," he muttered under his breath.

Tristan got under the covers of his bed, grateful for something soft to sleep on.

-------------------------------------------

Raja had only gotten back to sleep with the sleeping concoction her uncle gave her. He stayed with her all night. In the morning, it was still cloudy, so much so she thought it was the same day. She had breakfast, then a bath. She put on her black breeches, black pleated, knee-length skirt, her blue tunic, then her black coat that winged out at the wrists. Raja's feet were warm in her comfy socks, along with her small boots. Ardeth braided her hair that went mid-way down her back. Raja then slipped on her father's dragon amulet, tucking it under her coat. She was ready to meet the Sarmatians.

And she was nervous. Should she have brought them gifts? What if they didn't like her? Would they see the Sarmatian half in her, or just see her as another Egyptian freak? Would her cousin like her? Accept her? Raja wasn't used to being introduced to others – or other men. The only man, or person, really, she let very close to her was her uncle. The little girl could barely look anyone in the eyes – especially men. What would she see in their dark pupils? Her face screaming for mercy? Would their skin burn her, and cut her deep, spilling her blood? Would their voices spit demonic curses, their breath like acid, bubbling and eroding her skin? But, if her uncle trusted and liked them, they could not be like THEM. Not at all. Plus, these were her father's people, they simply couldn't be like THEM. These are her father's people, she repeated over and over in her head. Her father's people...

Raja held onto her uncle's hand tightly as he led her to a sitting room where the others were waiting. "What if they do not like me?" she asked mournfully.

Ardeth stopped mid-step, and kneeled down to face his niece. "Little one, they are eager to meet you," he assured gently. "And I will be right there by your side. I will not leave you."

She was slightly emboldened with her uncle's words. She nodded with as much confidence as she could, and before she knew it, they were standing in the doorway of a large room, the light of outside shining in the windows that lined the opposite wall. Five men stood up from their seats, silent. But surely they could hear the pounding of her heart. Raja looked at the tips of their boots – clean, yet worn.

"Raja," Ardeth said her name tenderly. Then he spoke in Arabic: "Will you not raise your head to greet them?"

Her breath shuddered. She clasped her hands down in front of her tightly, reluctantly having let go of her uncle's hand. With all the bravery she could muster, she took two tiny steps forward. And to the five men's surprise and consternation, she bent at the waist, head down, bowing respectfully. She peeked up quickly, looking through her long eyelashes – a quick scan of their faces. Ardeth joined her at her side, once again. When she heard and saw, two large feet approach her, her body became as still as a statue. A man bent in front of her, down on one knee as her uncle would do so she did not have to crane her head. A hand was held out to her slowly, palm up.

"My name is Arthur," the voice said warmly.

Why...he wanted to shake her hand! For a moment, she could only gaze at the lines of his palm. It was clean, but they looked rough. She looked up at her uncle, and he gave her a small, encouraging smile.

When was the last time she had touched someone so personally? Almost as if in slow motion, her very own smaller hand reached out to his, her fingertips touching his palm. He waited patiently, not moving. His skin did not burn, it did not scream out to her. Instead, it was more like a gentle breeze on a warm day, butterfly wings lapping brightly. Cautiously, Arthur's hand closed around hers. Then, Raja brought her other hand to rest against the back of his. Her grip tightened just a bit, and with two of her hands, she shook his hand. Her grey eyes – that were once a silvery sparkle – locked onto his. They were a beautiful jade. She did not see herself screaming in his black pupils. She only saw kindness in those eyes of his. Years of life-experience swam in them; though, she knew he was not old. Raja managed a quivering smile, the ends of her lips twitching upwards.

Arthur disengaged himself after a moment, then another, even taller form bent in front of her.

"I'm Dagonet," his deep, friendly voice said.

As with Arthur, she took his hand slowly. Even more calloused and time worn. But she felt such immense kindness emanating from him. For such extremely large hands, his shook hers with such utter tenderness that it amazed her. Her small hand was completely swallowed in his. With another small curl of her mouth, she scanned his face. He had a scar down his left eye, wrinkles around his eyes. There was sorrow there, but also understanding and compassion.

He back away, and another more burly man bent in front of her. "I'm Bors," his garrulous voice sounded, making her jump and move closer to her uncle who put an arm around her shoulder.

"Bors," she heard Dagonet hiss admonishingly.

"Damn," he whispered under his breath. "Ah, sorry, Raja," Bors' gruff voice said, this time his volume lower. "just damned pleased to meet ya."

Oh there was good nature in him! Humor unbound. Raja shook his hand, and he pumped her arm up and down energetically. She would have giggled if she had had the energy – which she hadn't for some time. But she looked at him pleasantly, and thankfully for accepting her.

"You sure you're related to Lancelot?" he asked her good-naturedly. "You don't look like a horse's-"

"Bors," Dagonet said again, this time he drawled warningly.

"Yeah, yeah," Bors said.

Another man stood in front of her now. He did not kneel so they could be face to face. "I'm Tristan," he said, clipped, with a forced softness to his voice. Then he backed away.

Raja had seen his face though. Was he the figure she had seen through the door yesterday? Tattoos, mussed hair, braids, bangs shielding his eyes. An unkempt beard veiled even more of his face. Yet, she felt warmth from him. He had not held out his hand, but she would have liked to shake his.

Before she could look up at her uncle questioningly, a vaguely familiar face kneeled in front of her, rather reluctantly, and she could not help but stare. Those eyes...that nose...that hair. It was...a very, much younger version of her _baba._ Her_ baba_...

With fascinated trepidation, she reached out, but not to shake his hand.

Lancelot, kneeled warily in front of her, wondering what she was going to do. Arthur was right, she was small. She looked closer to five or six than eight. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. He flinched when put a fingertip on his forehead, but did not move. The word "insane" flashed through his head. She was invading his space, but still, he did not move. Lancelot's face scrunched slightly when her finger haltingly trailed down the bridge of his nose, lingering for a mere moment at the tip. Raja touched him as if she had not touched another human being, save for her uncle, in years. Then, she touched his hair. The curls. She elongated one of them, and then brought her braid over her shoulder, touching the ends of her own wavy curls in comparison.

Raja turned back to her uncle, her fingers still touching Lancelot's hair and said something in her language. "..._baba,"_ she said softly.

Lancelot's eyes popped in shock. All he heard was a word that sounded frighteningly close to "papa." _Does she think I'm her father? Is she mistaking me for her father?_ He thought frantically. _She really must be insane._

He stood abruptly, her hand falling from his hair. He looked at Ardeth with questioning alarm. "She thinks I'm her father?" he blurted.

At his tone, Raja realized she must have made a serious mistake. She huddled next to her uncle, burying her face in his leg.

"No," Ardeth told the young man, placating his panic. "She said you resembled her father. Your nose and hair and eyes."

"Oh," he said, his breath going back to normal. He looked back at the small girl who was hiding in her uncle's side.

"Christ, Lance," he heard Bors mutter under his breath. "...idiot."

Lancelot shot him a scathing look.

"Quite all right, Lancelot," Ardeth assured him. "You have done nothing wrong."

He nodded and stood back.

Ardeth said something to Raja soothingly, and a moment later she came out from hiding. But her head was down now. "I think she needs to lie down," Ardeth said to them.

"Of course," Arthur said.

"It was nice meeting you, Raja," Dagonet said.

"Yeah," Bors echoed heartily and sincerely.

Raja stopped for a moment, hearing the geniality in their voices. She looked up at them all quickly, hoping they could see that she enjoyed meeting them as well. She bowed again in respect. Then waved cautiously, a child's gesture, to them in goodbye.

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When the two of them were gone, Bors said: "You have a bigger mouth than me," he said to Lancelot.

Lancelot snorted. "If she spoke so I could understand, I wouldn't have thought she said something different. Besides, she obviously doesn't know how to greet anyone properly either," Lancelot mimicked.

Arthur sighed and sat down. "Have some patience."

"She's only a young girl," Dagonet said.

"Eh yeah," Bors said speculatively. "I thought Ardeth said that she was, what, eight? She looked about five, six."

"Not her eyes," Tristan said stoically.

The four other men looked at the taciturn scout, startled that he had taken any time to notice – or even speak of what he saw.

Tristan ignored them and turned to Arthur. "We done?"

He paused. "Uh...yes, we are finished here."

With a slight nod, Tristan exited the room. He left the keep and headed for the stables, needing the quiet of animals. He hadn't shaken her hand, or bent down to face her, but he could the oldness of her. He wondered if she had remembered him from the previous day, looking through the opening of the door. If she had, she hadn't said anything to her uncle. Or if she did, the Egyptian hid it well. The little girl had seemed so lost and sad, obviously, only anchored by the presence of her Uncle Ardeth. It brought out feelings in Tristan that he could barely recognize. Sympathy? Understanding? He shrugged it off.

He knew he had felt impatience, and the inclination to smash his face in, when Lancelot continued to complain. Obviously, he did not appreciate the rarity of being able to see blood family. Most of them would never even see their families again, and here Lancelot was – bitching about the fact that a connection to his home was present.

---------------------------------

"I'm sorry," Raja said to her uncle when they entered her room. "I made him very angry."

"Oh, no, not at all, little one. He was simply nervous to meet you. Just as you were."

He set her down on the large, cushioned armchair in front of the fire. He wiped a tear that trickled down her face. "How about some warm tea?"

She sniffed and ran her palms across her cheeks. "That would be nice."

"I will have to leave the room," he told her.

"How long will you be away?" she asked, as if he were going on a journey.

"Not long at all."

She pressed her lips together. "All right."

"Very good," he said. He kissed her on the head before leaving the room, the door clicking closed quietly.

Raja sat stiffly in the armchair, her ears alert for any noise. She closed her eyes for a mere second, and when she opened them her eyes caught something small on the opposite armchair. She blinked, and saw a small mouse sitting on the seat.

"Hello," she said, a tiny smile creeping on her face. "Where did you come from?"

When the mouse did not reply, she spoke again. "I came from Egypt. My name is Raja."

The mouse twitched his whiskers. She bent down in front of the mouse's chair.

She gasped. "You're all wet. You look as if you've just come from swimming in the sea." She hurried and got a dry, clean cloth. "If you let me, I'll dry you off." The mouse inched forward. Raja picked him up and set him on the cloth. She went closer to the fire and gently patted the small creature, hoping to warm him. "What is your name?"

Raja waited in silence, hoping that she would be given his name. He had swum in from the sea. "Oh! Well, it is nice to meet you, too, Moses."

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The next few nights the men heard ghostly wails rustling through the corridors and slipping under their doors like a foreboding mist. The cries never lasted too long, but they seemed to echo silently.

Every night Tristan expected those child Phantoms to emerge from the darkness. He could barely fall asleep until he heard them, and when they were gone he was able to drift off. Raja's yells bothered him, but not in an annoying way. They bothered him because they sent a chill down his spine. They bothered him because they were so filled with torture and torment. They were like a sad song that whispered through a vast chasm of nothingness. A dark lullaby.

Lancelot finally went to sleep in his barracks after the third night of hearing the girl cry out. The first night he had heard it he nearly bolted out of bed, his heart pounding furiously. He had stopped and listened, opened his door, the cries clearer. When he realized it was his cousin, it unnerved him all the more.

As the weeks went by, Ardeth took Raja around the fort, introducing her to some of the people he was acquainted with. They took rides, Raja sitting in front of her uncle holding Moses, as Ra, his horse, trotted over the vast, green grounds and through the forests. It had stopped raining, but the skies were still overcast, the wind a bit sharp. She spoke rarely, and usually in Arabic.

She spent some time with Dagonet in what she called the Healing Room. Raja felt at ease with the giant knight. She would sit on a high stool as she watched him ground herbs on a table. Sometimes she would help him.

She managed a few games of Chess with Arthur. The game required little talking, but the atmosphere was serene. As they played, Moses sat on either her head or shoulder. She introduced the small creature to Arthur, only saying: Moses.

"As in the prophet?" he asked her.

She had nodded, glad that he had caught onto that.

Raja tried to spend time with her cousin Lancelot as well. But she could not help but stare at his features; though, she knew it was rude and tried not to. They sat in her room, the door wide open, the curtains as well, letting in as much light as possible. Her feet didn't reach the floor, and she would sit up straight, hands in her lap across from Lancelot as he sat in the same chair she had found Moses on.

Raja sometimes put him ill at ease. The way she stared at him made him fidgety. Ardeth had explained to him that she knew exactly who he was, and did not confuse him with her father in the least.

It another inactive day, and despite the fact that the small Egyptian was odd, he could not help but be curious of this blood-cousin of his. They had been sitting in silence now for almost ten minutes, the fire crackling.

Finally, he had to mention something that had been on the tip of his tongue for days: "Are you aware that you have a mouse on your head?"

Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, her lips curving into that slight grin of hers. "This is Moses," she said, the words pronounced carefully. Although she spoke this particular language well, it was neither her first nor second language. "Moses," - she rolled her eyes upwards, "this is my cousin, Lancelot."

He said nothing for several moments. She was introducing him to a mouse as if it knew what she was saying. And how those words "my cousin" had rolled off her tongue with such ease. He only cleared his throat, not able to greet the animal sitting on her head.

Raja took Moses into her hands and stroked him gently. "I make you uncomfortable," she stated, her voice whispery soft.

"No," he denied uncertainly.

"That's okay," she replied, not really believing him. "But look." She set Moses down on her lap and took her father's dragon amulet from underneath her coat.

Lancelot merely stared at the trinket. It was the same one as his father had given him the day he left Sarmatia. It brought memories back, good ones and painful ones.

"My _baba_ said that your _baba_ had one, too." Her eyes looked at him expectantly, hoping to share this connection.

He took his out from his vest, holding it up by the piece of twine. Raja gazed at it as if it were an ancient treasure. Slowly, her mouth spread into a wider grin, her teeth almost showing.

Ardeth had appeared in the doorway just as his niece grinned. At first he thought he was imagining things, but, no, Raja was smiling wider than he had seen in over a year. It still did not quite reach her eyes, but there it was. A spark of something coming back to life inside of her. And maybe Lancelot, too.

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For the past week or so, Tristan had felt like someone was watching him. Especially when he was in the stables. He continued to brush Dyne, the back of his neck tingling. The scout had an inkling of who might be following him – but would she dare? He had not caught a sight of her.

Raja watched the enigmatic man brush his beautiful horse. When he had not been there she introduced herself. She knew the grey/white horse was named Dyne. A beautiful name she thought. All the other steeds were so wonderful, as well. Jols, the head stable-hand was very nice, and did not mind that she often spent time here. The small girl crouched in an empty stall, only her fingers that set on the top of the stall door, and her eyes and crown of her head visible.

This man had caught Raja's attention. He did not speak much – like her. Her uncle had told her that Tristan was a man who liked his space and rarely spent his free time with others. But he was not to be feared, he assured her. And no, this man did not frighten her. He reminded her of the warmth of Egypt. The gold, brown, and light brown hues of her home. He was a regal pyramid, high, solid, pointing up at the sun. He was earthy. The simple clothes he wore. Browns or greens. Well worn, his coat frayed at the edges. She had caught glimpses of gold in his deep brown eyes, glinting like the mellow sun that shone among blue skies. His movements were as fluid as the rush of the Nile. Even here, in Britain, he drew away the clouds, his golden light a beacon of safety and Home.

Tristan turned his head a slight fraction, his mussed tresses covering his eyes. The tingling on the back of his neck and increased. In his one movement, he finally caught her. A small creature that had been shadowing him for weeks.

_Sneaky_, he thought.

He smirked. He coughed, the sound loud in the quiet stables. Tristan put the brush away and patted Dyne on the head. He noticed that she had hid herself once again. Casually, he walked to the other side where she hid. He leaned against the end of the wall that separated one stall from another, his legs and arms crossed.

Not long after, he heard a small voice: "Hello."

He turned and looked down. She stared up at him, a mouse on her shoulder.

"You've been following me," he returned.

"Yes, I have," she replied unapologetically. She came out of the stall and closed it, then stood a couple of feet away from him, still observing him unabashedly. "I'm Raja." She held out her hand, like she thought she was supposed to.

Tristan's gaze narrowed. "I know." But that wide-eyed wonder still masked her face, until finally, he sighed, and shook her hand. "Tristan."

Raja clasped tightly to his hand, not letting him go. His arm tensed, then went slack, just letting her hold onto him. Her mannerisms were different. But maybe it had something to do with what made her cry at night. He saw how she clung to her uncle, and despite the fact that she was in a new country, he did not think it common for a girl her age to act like that. _What the hell do I know about kids, though?_

Reluctantly, she let his hand go. "It's nice to meet you, Trissy."

His jaw tightened. "Tristan."

Raja ignored him. "This is Moses," she told him, picking the mouse off her shoulder and holding him up to Tristan.

His eyes moved back and forth from her to the mouse.

"Don't you like animals?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Me too. They make good friends, don't they?"

He cocked an eyebrow and raised one shoulder imperceptibly.

"Do you have any friends?"

Not really, no, he wanted to say. He wasn't close to anyone, even after being here for near six years. They died too quickly.

"I like my space," he finally answered.

Raja took a step away from him, which made him half-grin. Just then, thunder rumbled and a crack of lightning snapped in the sky.

Raja yelped and crouched, her hands over her head, Moses crawling under her coat.

Tristan saw her shaking, a small whimper escaping her lips. He didn't deal in comforting people, and now he didn't know what to do. Did he leave a scared girl in a strange place by herself? _Shit._

But like a glorious reprieve, Ardeth entered the stables, as if he had sensed his niece's discomfort from afar.

"She is not quite used to all this rain," Ardeth said to him, Raja in his arms.

"I introduced him to Moses," Raja said to her uncle.

"Did you then, little one?" Ardeth grinned at Tristan, certain the lone scout was not used to being in the company of children.

Raja said something else to her uncle in Arabic, then turned back to Tristan. "Would you like to have lunch with me?"

Ardeth gave him a look that said he did not have to, no offense would be taken. But the Egyptian also had a note of surprise about him, the fact that his niece was asking of her own accord.

"That's all right," Raja said wistfully, after Tristan did not reply. "Maybe another day."

Her tone made Tristan feel guilty. _Shit._

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Raja was pleased that Tristan had had lunch with her a week ago. It was a comfortable silence they ate in most of the time, but she still walked away feeling as if she had had a thorough conversation. He even listened when she told him the story of Moses, the significance of the mouse's name.

The Pharaoh had ordered that all male Hebrew children be killed by drowning in the Nile. Moses' mother had saved him, and the boy was adopted into the Pharaoh's Egyptian family.

Raja continued narrating of how Moses saw the abuse of a Hebrew slave and killed the Egyptian slave-driver. Moses had run away into the desert, where he met his soon-to-be wife. One day, Moses led his flock to Mount Horeb where he came upon a burning bush. God spoke to him from the bush telling him that he was to go to Egypt and release the Hebrews from slavery.

When she got to the part about Moses parting the Red Sea and leading the Hebrews through the desert for forty years, Tristan snorted derisively and said: "He should have known where he was going."

To that, Raja giggled...for the first time in over a year her mouth spread in a great big smile, and let out a sound of genuine mirth.

After everything the Israelites had been through, though, she had said, they got to the Promised Land. They were free.

But now, a week later, the knights were gone. Off somewhere on their duties. She realized how very quiet it was without them around, and she no longer had any misgivings with spending time with them. While they were gone, Ardeth continued to school her. And at night, while he read to her, she would knit socks. Raja thought that the men might need some socks.

Not long after, trumpets sounded in the middle of the day. Ardeth told her that meant the knights had arrived. He took her out to the courtyard, the socks she knitted in hand, standing by the door Raja saw them dismount. They were dirty...and...she squinted, their faces and armor were splattered with blood. Raja watched as the inhabitants of the fort stood in awe at them. There they were, gawking at the men in bloody armor as if they were gods. Did they not see the blood? The weariness in their eyes and bodies? Did they not know what it was like to have someone else's blood on their skin?

They did not see human men. They only saw Knights, having come back from an apparent victorious battle. But the only victory of it was that they were alive.

Raja clutched the five bundles of socks to her chest as the men walked towards the door. She stepped forward, holding out the first pair to Arthur, giving him a welcome smile.

"Socks," she said. "Clean ones."

Arthur grinned back at her. Thanks went to her when they each received their pair, even Tristan's lips curved upwards.

The next day, Tristan walked into the stables to see all the horses gone.

Jols and Lancelot walked in from the back door, shaking his head. When he saw Tristan, he laughed. "You won't believe it unless you see it for yourself."

"Insane," Lancelot mumbled as he stepped passed.

Tristan stepped out the back door, only to see the horses either lying on their sides or simply sitting on the ground. Raja was sitting in front of them, Moses on her head. The breeze carried her lilting voice to his ears. She was telling the horses the story of Moses. He sat down on a bale of hay against the wall, transfixed at the sight of steeds on the ground, listening like children listening to a fable.

In between parts of the story, Raja would play a short tune from a flute she had. Sometimes dramatically happy or somber depending on which part of the tale she was at.

Then, four words were spoken louder than the rest, and when she said them her arms went up in the air, up to the blue, sunny sky – the first truly sunny day since she had arrived. "Let my people go!" she exclaimed.

Tristan smiled wide, a light chuckle sounding.

From his study, Ardeth could see the corral where his niece was sitting in front of the horses. He laughed to himself when she raised her hands in the air, the smile clear on her face. He observed Tristan sitting on a bale of hay by the wall, and a small smile lit his face for the lone scout as well as he saw the man laugh.

Maybe a spark of life was coming back to life inside of him, too.

_It won't rain all the time  
The sky won't fall forever.  
And though the night seems long,  
your tears won't fall,  
your tears won't fall,  
your tears won't fall forever._  
-Jane Siberry

6/3/07


	2. EDITED: It Can't Rain All the Time

I rewrote this for an assignment in my creative writing class.

**It Can't Rain All the Time**

_We walked the narrow path,  
beneath the smoking skies.  
Sometimes you can barely tell the difference  
between darkness and light.  
Do you have faith  
in what we believe?  
The truest test is when we cannot,  
when we cannot see._

Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.

It had only drizzled the day the little girl and her uncle arrived at the fortress. A week and a half ago they had arrived in a large ship at a port near the ocean. The town had been a large one for marketing and trading. The journey had been long from Egypt to Britain, surrounded by vast sums of water and only the sky for company. They stayed at the port town for a few days to rest before moving ahead. Her uncle's ship would remain behind to take them back when they so decided.

When the little girl's uncle decided the weather was fair enough for travel, they set out with two of her uncle's _medjai _and made way for the fortress near Hadrian's Wall where her cousin was stationed. He was the main reason why she was here.

The excursion had allowed Raja to see sights she had never seen. Compared to Egypt, there was so much greenery, more dense foliage that she had only heard of from her _baba's_ stories about his time in Britain. Many mountains in the distance, many hills they rode up and down. She had slept a lot of the time, riding with her uncle the entire way. She was saddled astride in front of him, his strong arms around her. They camped at night in the forests. She and her uncle occupied one large tent big enough for three grown men. The two _medjai_ kept watch every night. He was the only security left in her life. So much tragedy in the previous year, too much for one so young.

Her screams accompanied the nocturnal sounds of the forest. Every night the demons haunted her. But her uncle was there, singing her a lullaby to calm her, drive away the demons. But they always came back, never too far away.

The exterior of the fortress was surrounded by the sparse population that lived outside of the walls, mostly farmers and field hands. Each gate had a long road leading to an entry. It was the north trail they took, passing by the workers who were tending to their farms or other household duties despite the frigid weather. It all sped by the little girl. The drizzle made the scenery unclear. They were like liquid bars, giving only fractions of the entire picture. The people stopped and stared. When they reached the northern gates, two vast double doors made of iron with spikes pointing out were shut to them. Her uncle slowed and told the guards who he was and he and their company were immediately granted access.

The stone walls were high and impressive. Each corner was occupied by a soldier in a guard tower. There was another trail that led to the keep in the very center of the fortress. The courtyard was square and appeared harsh in the gloomy weather. The wind bit into the girl's face and she huddled deeper into the blanket she was wrapped in. The people who lived inside the walls also stopped and stared at the three large Arabian horses that galloped through. There were not too many people out because of the weather.

Finally, the little girl felt her uncle's horse come to a stop.

"It is good to see you again, Ardeth." It was a deep, accented voice that greeted her uncle.

"You as well, Jols," her uncle replied. He introduced the two _medjai_.

The little girl was snoozing by then. Uncle Ardeth dismounted with ease and took his niece in his arms. On instinct she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Her head was obscured by the hood of her cloak. The unfamiliar surroundings frightened her, and people were staring. She buried her head further in his shoulder so only her eyes were visible. All the color seemed muted. She blinked, clearing the vestiges of sleep from her eyes. The people wore shades of browns and grays. In Egypt, there was lots of color. Very bright.

The three horses were led away by Jols.

"Ardeth!" Another deep voice greeted her uncle with fondness.

"Arthur. It is good to see you." The small girl could hear the smile in his voice.

The _medjai_ were introduced again.

"This is my niece, Raja," Ardeth said.

Raja clung tighter to him. Strangers scared her. She said nothing, only burrowed further in the haven of her uncle.

"She is quite tired," he explained.

Arthur understood. "Your quarters have long been prepared."

They went up the few stairs that led to the double doors of the keep. Raja's eyes had to adjust to the difference of light. They were in a square foyer. The stone walls were bare save for the torches on the walls that lit the room. A staircase was to the right, leading to her new bedroom. Down a long hallway alighted with more torches.

"Here we are, little one," Ardeth said to her.

The door was already open. It was a fair sized room. The curtains of the two windows were open, letting in the murky daylight of late afternoon. The fireplace was blazing with flames and two braziers added heat to the room. Her uncle gave the _medjai_ leave to their quarters which were not far away.

"Raja," her uncle said, "I am going to set you on the bed now, all right?"

The little girl mumbled something, not wanting to let go, but she must have for she felt herself being set upon a soft surface. Raja rubbed her fists in her eyes, then blinked. She finally took in her surroundings with more care. Raja saw a trunk – which she recognized to be hers after a few moments – at the foot of the bed. The bed was neatly made, the material soft under her fingertips. She sat quietly on the bed, hands placed on her lap.

Ardeth untied her cloak and draped it over a chair. He bent down and slipped off her boots, checking to make sure her socks were dry.

"Would you like rest or food first, little one?"

Raja gazed into her uncle's gentle eyes. The only person she had left in the world now that her _baba_ and _walida_ were dead. She had always been close to her uncle. A year after the colony in Egypt, where she lived, had been attacked, Ardeth thought she might benefit from a change of scenery. He knew she had a cousin in Britain. Raja's father was Sarmatian, and after serving his fifteen years in the Roman legion, met and married her mother, 'Aisha.

It had been Ardeth's ship that had taken Lancelot and the surviving Sarmatians back to their home. But Lancelot could not bear the idea of ever forming a family there, to have any sons he might have fathered taken away.

Raja's father had told her about her Sarmatian kin and his homeland. He had had an older brother who'd served in the legion as well. Because he had been taken from his home before Lancelot, he had also been released before him as well. They never found one another during the short years they'd both occupied the same country. Lancelot's older brother set back for his home, and by then, Lancelot was already gone and stationed somewhere in Britain.

A few years ago, Ardeth had received a letter from Arthur Castus, current commander of a band of Sarmatians. The Egyptian was an old friend of Arthur's mentor, so he had known Arthur when he was a young boy. Arthur valued the Egyptian's advice and guidance, writing to him, seeking aid in his new commandership. Raja's cousin was one of those soldiers.

"Sleepy," she replied.

He smiled and nodded, and tucked her in for a nap. She snuggled under the thick covers, both hands clutching a carved wooden dragon amulet that hung over her neck by a piece of twine. If it were not for the long journey, he knew it would have taken longer for her to fall asleep. But as it was, it only took a few moments before her eyes closed tight, her breathing gradually becoming steady.

Ardeth quietly unpacked some of her things. Putting her clothes – tunics, jackets, breeches, a few dresses – in drawers. He lined up her three pairs of boots, two pairs of slippers, next to the dresser. Set her comb and brush on a table that had a small mirror in front of it. Books went on the shelves. In between, his eyes flicked towards his niece for any sign of distress. Every time she slept nightmares plagued her. Since she had seen her mother brutally murdered and violated, watching from a bureau her mother had placed her in just before three men had burst their way through the bedroom door. Those same men discovered Raja in the bedroom.

Ardeth had not been there at the time. But a messenger was sent for him right away to Alexandria where he had been staying. When he'd returned to the colony, less than a day later by boat, it was in bad shape. Other families had suffered losses as well.

But his own cut the deepest. He was told that his younger sister and brother-in-law were both dead. Lancelot had gone out to defend the colony with other soldiers – it had taken three arrows to rob him of life.

Ardeth had been left cold by the story. His little niece was unconscious when he went to her. Swollen and bruised. A skilled physician was tending to her with constant vigilance. After she awoke, a week or so later, she recognized her uncle. And she remembered everything in pieces. She could not talk, she only screamed at night. Raja was only sound when Ardeth was near, panicking if she could not see him.

Raja stirred in bed, mewling quietly. Ardeth walked softly to her side and touched her forehead for any sign of fever. Health so fragile. The Egyptian girl was calmed by him. Satisfied that she was complacent for the moment, he returned to his work. He continued to arrange things here and there to make the room as comforting as possible. When he had done as much as he could, he sat himself down in the armchair next to her bed, watching the clouds go by.

---------------------------------------

"What did she look like?" Lancelot asked Arthur.

The two men were in Arthur's study, just having gone over battle tactics and discussing ways to up the security around the fortress. The large map was rolled up and returned to its wooden cylinder for safe keeping.

Lancelot had opted to not go out and greet Ardeth and his...cousin. He would never tell anyone, but it unnerved him to know that he was seeing a blood relative, any blood for the first time in years. He hoped Ardeth was not offended. The Egyptian was a good man and he respected him greatly. It was just...a cousin? A few years after he had been stationed at the fortress under Artorius Castus' command – or Arthur, to them – Ardeth had arrived by Arthur's invitation. And that was when Lancelot's world had taken a tip to the left.

Lancelot's father had often told him of the younger brother he had been close to. The uncle he had never met was his namesake.

"I could not see her face," Arthur replied. "She was very small, and had her head buried in Ardeth's shoulder. I think she was frightened and very tired from the journey."

"He was carrying her?" Lancelot asked. He put his dark brown eyes on Arthur incredulously.

"Yes, he said she was very tired."

He snorted. "Tired or not. Carrying her around like some noble brat."

Arthur scrutinized his friend closely. Despite the caustic remarks he had been making, referring to his cousin as "noble," as if it were something sinful, he could tell that Lancelot was nervous.

"Lancelot, she has been through very much. Ardeth wrote about her health and her present state."

He nodded dismissively. "She lost her parents."

Arthur's mouth set in a firm line. "She watched her mother die, Lancelot. When she was not but seven years of age."

He hid his wince. Watched her mother die. The last time he had seen his mother she was very much alive. How many years ago? Six? Seven? No. Seven years, four months and twelve days.

"I also doubt Ardeth would appreciate you calling his niece – your cousin – a brat. You don't even know her. And, Ardeth is of noble blood, and he has never been disdainful or patronizing to anyone."

Lancelot sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair haphazardly. "What the hell am I supposed to say to her? What am I supposed to do with an eight year old cousin?" He was showing his vulnerability, cleverly veiled in caustic remarks. The life of a warrior was no place for weaknesses. Taken from home at eleven, forced into a life of fealty for a people who treated him as little more than a slave. A Pagan barbarian.

Arthur didn't answer. They were interrupted by a bland knock on the door. Tristan came in when Arthur answered, his face set in his usual flat features. He was muddy and wet, having just returned from a routine patrol around and about. Checking in was required.

"You're safe?" Arthur asked.

"I'm here," Tristan replied.

The commander smirked at his scout's usual wryness. When the man was just about to walk off, Arthur spoke: "Tristan."

He turned around, simply waiting.

"Ardeth arrived a few hours ago with his niece and two of his soldiers."

Tristan glanced briefly at Lancelot.

"She was sleeping when they arrived and has yet to awake."

"What does this have to do with me?" he asked.

"We're all to bow down and wait on her hand and foot," Lancelot quipped.

Tristan ignored him. He was too cold, wet and tired to listen to any more of Lancelot's whiny complaints about his cousin.

"Nothing," Arthur said, ignoring him as well. "I was just informing you as I did Bors and Dagonet. I will send a maid to bring you clean clothes and a warm bath. When you have rested we will discuss your patrol."

Tristan nodded and left. He walked down the hall and up the stairs, the same corridors he had become so familiar with over the years. He knew them so well he could walk backwards with his eyes closed and not bump into a thing. Sometimes he felt like an old man after a lengthy patrol. Blisters bit into his feet, his knees ached along with every muscle in his body.

As he headed towards his room he thought he heard a cry coming down from another passage. He knew it was where Ardeth stayed when he visited. Tristan's room wasn't too far off. When he heard it again, his feet followed until he came to the door where the noise was coming from. A child's sobs sounded behind the door, hitting his chest at the agony he heard. Almost hypnotized, his hand turned the knob, opening the door just a pinch. He saw Ardeth holding a small person – whom he assumed to be Lancelot's cousin – cradling her like a little baby. Her hair was black as midnight. She mumbled in a different language, incoherent. Ardeth was saying something to her in the same tongue. Tristan saw it was soothing the girl, her cries winding down like a violent storm to a soft weeping.

Tristan could not help staring through the crack in the door. Such unabashed sorrow surrounded her as Ardeth crooned and comforted whatever ills afflicted her. Ills that did not suit someone so young at all. When she finally quieted, her eyes opened. And even though they were red-rimmed from crying, Tristan could see the gray of her irises. He was struck still when her eyes moved to the door, staring through the opening right at him. He closed it quickly and as quietly as he could, he made his way down and through the halls to his room. He entered and shut the door behind him, immediately taking the initiative to stoke the fire in his quarters. His sparsely furnished room was dreary. He did not have – or need – a lot of things. He took the wash bowl and a cloth, wiping himself down, not bothering to wait for the warm water that would be brought to him.

Tristan stripped himself of his sodden and grimy clothes. The maid better arrive with warm garments soon before he froze his ass off. He didn't have a clean sock to his name.

"The hell with it," he muttered under his breath.

Tristan got under the covers of his bed, grateful for something soft to rest on.

---------------------------------------------

Raja woke up several times during her first night in her new bedroom, but her uncle had stayed with her throughout, sleeping on the cushioned armchair by her bed. In the morning it was still cloudy, so much so she thought it was the same day. Her uncle brought her breakfast, making sure she ate as much as possible. Then, after she took a warm bath, she began to dress to meet the Sarmatians.

Raja donned a pair of black cotton hose, black pleated, knee-length skirt, her blue tunic, and her black coat that flared out at the wrists. She slipped on a pair of socks she had knitted herself, then chose her black boots to wear. She combed her hair carefully and then let her uncle braid it for her. Then she put on her father's dragon amulet, tucking it under her coat.

"All ready?" Ardeth asked.

She nodded her head and clasped his hand that he held out to her.

As they walked out of the room and down the hall – closer to their destination – she became even more nervous than she already was. Should she have brought them gifts? What if they didn't like her? Other children in Egypt thought she looked queer – would they think the same?

The unfamiliar rattled her. Being introduced to others was a scary experience. She could hardly look anyone in the eyes. In their dark pupils – what would she see? Herself - screaming and struggling? Crying as she lay helpless? Would their skin burn her, and cut her deep, spilling her blood? Would their voices spit demonic curses, their breath like acid, bubbling and eroding her skin?

No, no, she assured herself. If Uncle Ardeth trusted them, then surely they could not be like the Bad Men. Plus, these were her _baba's_ people, they simply couldn't be like the Bad Men.

These are my _baba's_ people, she repeated over and over in her head. Her _baba's_ people...

Ardeth felt her hand increasing its hold. She was muttered under her breath.

"Raja?" He stopped walking and bent down on one knee to face her.

She averted her dull gray eyes and fought back tears. "What if they do not like me?" she asked mournfully.

"Little one, they are eager to meet you," he assured gently. "And I will be right there by your side. I will not leave you."

She was slightly emboldened by her uncle's words. She nodded with as much confidence as she could, and before she knew it, they were standing in the doorway of a large room, the light from outside shining in the windows that lined the opposite wall. Five men stood up from their seats, silent. Surely they could hear the pounding of her heart.

Raja's head was to the floor. From left to right, she looked at each pair of feet that were covered by worn boots. So worn, like they had walked millions and millions of miles in them.

"Raja," Ardeth said her name tenderly. Then he spoke in his native tongue: "Will you not raise your head to greet them?"

With an almost inaudible pule, she let go of his hand. Her breath shuddered. Raja clasped her hands together tightly to hide their tremors. With all the bravery she could muster, she took two tiny steps forward. She bent at the waist, head down, and bowed respectfully. She peeked up quickly, looking through her long eyelashes – a quick scan of their faces. At the silence she scurried back to her uncle's side.

When she heard and saw two large feet approach her, her body became as still as a statue. A man kneeled in front of her, down on one knee, as her uncle would do so she did not have to crane her head. A hand was held out to her slowly, palm up.

"My name is Arthur," the voice said warmly.

This was the man who welcomed her uncle Ardeth yesterday. And...he wanted to shake her hand! For a moment, she could only gaze at the lines of his palm, so many trails that intersected. A clean hand. Calloused. She looked up at her uncle, and he gave her a small, encouraging smile. When was the last time she had touched someone so personally?

Almost in slow motion, her very own smaller hand reached out to his. He waited patiently, not moving. His skin did not burn, it did not cause her pain. The pads of her fingertips skimmed over his flesh. Cautiously, Arthur's hand closed around hers. Then, Raja brought her other hand to rest against the back of his. Her grip tightened just a bit, and with two of her hands, she shook his. Her gray eyes locked onto his. They were a beautiful jade. Raja saw no violence in the depths of his pupils, only kindness – and years of a harsh life that made one weary. Raja managed a quivery smile.

With another grin, Arthur disengaged himself. He stepped back and another man came forth.

"I'm Dagonet," his deep, friendly voice said. He was taller than all the rest – even Ardeth – and bald.

As with Arthur, she took his hand slowly. There were just as many roads on his palms, and she suspected it might be the same with all of them. There was a softness to him. For such extremely large hands, his shook hers with such utter tenderness that it amazed her. Her small hand was completely swallowed in his. With another small curl of her mouth, she scanned his face. He had a thin scar that ran down under the corner of his left eye. There was sorrow there, but also understanding and compassion. Did they all have definitive etches of old souls in the bodies of the young?

He backed away, and another more burly man bent in front of her. "I'm Bors," his garrulous voice sounded, making her jump and move closer to her uncle who put an arm around her shoulder.

"Bors," she heard Dagonet hiss admonishingly.

"Damn," he whispered under his breath. "Ah, sorry, Raja," Bors' gruff voice softened, this time his volume lower. "Just damned pleased to meet ya."

The change of his tone surprised her. He was nice and funny, she could tell. Raja shook his hand, and he pumped her arm up and down energetically. She would have giggled if she had had the energy – which she hadn't for some time. But she looked at him pleasantly - and thankfully - for accepting her.

"You sure you're related to Lancelot?" he asked her good-naturedly. "You don't look like a horse's-"

"Bors," Dagonet said again, this time he drawled warningly.

"Yeah, yeah," Bors said.

Another man stood in front of her now. He did not kneel so they could be face to face. "I'm Tristan," he said, clipped, with a forced amiability to his voice. Then he backed away.

Was he the figure she had seen through the door yesterday? At first, she had thought him a ghost, but even through her tears she could discern the solidity of his presence. He appeared the most untamed of all the warriors – tattoos on each cheek, mussed hair, braids, bangs shielding his eyes. An unkempt beard masked even more of his face. Yet, she felt warmth from him. He had not held out his hand, but she would have liked to shake his.

Before she could look up at her uncle questioningly, a vaguely familiar face flooded her vision. Raja could not help but stare. Those eyes...that nose...that hair. It was a very much younger version of _Baba._ With fascinated trepidation, she reached out.

Lancelot kneeled warily in front of her, wondering what she was going to do. He offered his hand. Arthur was right, she was small. She looked closer to five or six than eight – could not be any taller than three and a half feet.

Her eyes were wide as she gazed at him. Lancelot was kneeling with his hand hanging dumbly in the air...waiting. He flinched. Raja had not taken his hand. Instead, she reached out and ran the point of her index finger down the bridge of his nose. She kept the tip of her finger on the end of his nose.

She was invading his space and seemed completely unaware of the fact. Her demeanor suggested that she had been blind, and now she could see. Like she'd been deaf, but now she could hear. Raja touched him as if she had not touched another human being - save for her uncle - in years. Then, she touched his hair. The curls. She elongated one of them, and let it spring back into place. Lancelot could not figure out why this seemed to amuse her so. Raja brought her braid over her shoulder and touched the curls below the clasp. She held it out to him. See? She tugged on his hair again.

When that brooked no response, she let it be. Her soft hands ran over his face. The pads of her thumbs stretched the skin on his forehead, under his eyes, touched his eyelids.

Finally, she rested her small hands on his cheeks and turned to her uncle. She spoke for the first time since she had entered the room. "..._Baba,"_ she said softly.

Lancelot's eyes snapped open as wide as saucers. All he heard was a word that sounded frighteningly close to "papa." _Does she think I'm her father? Is she mistaking me for her father?_ he thought frantically. He stood abruptly to his feet, severing the tender connection she had made with him.

He looked at Ardeth with questioning alarm. "She thinks I'm her father?" he blurted.

One moment he was there and the next he was not. Raja's arms were still open, a gaping nothing where her cousin's head had just been. His voice was upset. Her face crumpled and her arms dropped to her sides. She huddled next to her uncle, and wrapped herself tightly around his leg.

"No," Ardeth told the young man, placating his panic, while comforting his niece. "She said you resembled her father. Your nose and hair and eyes."

"Oh," he said, his breathing going back to normal. He looked back at the small girl who was hiding in her uncle's side, shaking and mumbling.

"Christ, Lance," he heard Bors mutter under his breath. "...idiot."

Lancelot shot him a scathing look.

"Quite all right, Lancelot," Ardeth assured him. "You have done nothing wrong."

He nodded and stood back, feeling a nugget of guilt.

Ardeth said something to Raja soothingly, and a moment later she came out from hiding. But her head was down now. "I think she needs to rest," Ardeth said to them.

"Of course," Arthur said, an expression of concern on his face.

"It was nice meeting you, Raja," Dagonet said.

"Yeah," Bors echoed heartily and sincerely.

Raja stopped for a moment, hearing the geniality in their voices. She looked up at them all quickly, hoping they could see that she enjoyed meeting them as well. She bowed again in respect. Ardeth picked her up and she rested her chin on his shoulder. She waved – a curling of her fingers - to them in goodbye.

-------------------------------------------------

When the two of them were gone, Bors said to Lancelot, "You have a bigger mouth than me."

Lancelot scoffed. "If she spoke so I could understand, I wouldn't have thought she said something different. Besides, she obviously doesn't know how to greet anyone properly either."

Arthur sighed and sat down. "Have some patience."

"She's only a young girl," Dagonet said.

"Eh, yeah," Bors said speculatively. "I thought Ardeth said that she was, what, eight? She didn't look it."

"Not her eyes," Tristan said.

The four other men looked at the taciturn scout who was standing aside casually. He rarely spoke, but when he did, people listened.

"Wonderful observation," Lancelot quipped dryly.

Tristan ignored them and turned to Arthur. "We done?"

He paused. "Uh...yes, we are finished here."

With a slight nod, Tristan exited the room. He left the keep and headed for the stables, needing the quiet of animals. He hadn't shaken her hand, or bent down to face her, but he could sense the oldness of her. He wondered if she had remembered him from the previous day, looking through the opening of the door. If she had, she hadn't said anything to her uncle. Or if she did, the Egyptian hid it well. The little girl had seemed so lost and sad, obviously, only anchored by the presence of her Uncle Ardeth. It brought out feelings in Tristan that he could barely recognize. Sympathy? Understanding? He shrugged it off.

He knew he had felt impatience, and the inclination to smash Lancelot's face in, when he'd continued to complain. Obviously, he did not appreciate the rarity of being able to see blood family. Most of them would never even see their families again, and here Lancelot was – bitching about the fact that a connection to his home was present.

-------------------------------------------------

"I'm sorry," Raja said to her uncle when they entered her room. "I made him very angry."

"Oh, no, not at all, little one. He was simply nervous to meet you. Just as you were."

He set her down on the large, cushioned armchair in front of the fire. He wiped a tear that trickled down her face. "How about some warm tea?"

She sniffed and ran her palms across her cheeks. "That would be nice."

Ardeth filled a kettle with water and placed it on the removable grate hanging above the fire. "I will have to leave the room to get the tea leaves," he told her.

"How long will you be away?" she asked, as if he were going on a journey.

"Not long at all."

She pressed her lips together. "All right."

"Very good," he said. He kissed her on the head before leaving the room and left the door open behind him.

Raja sat stiffly in the armchair, her ears alert for any noise. She felt badly for having hurt Lancelot's feelings. But he had reminded her so much of _Baba_ that she could not help but scrutinize him. She closed her eyes for a mere second to blink back tears, and when she opened a them her eyes caught something small on the opposite armchair. She rubbed her eyelids, and saw a small mouse sitting on the seat.

"Hello," she said, a tiny smile creeping on her face. "Where did you come from?" When the mouse did not reply, she spoke again. "I came from Egypt. My name is Raja."

The mouse twitched his whiskers. She wriggled off her seat and then bent down in front of the mouse's chair.

She gasped. "You're all wet. You look as if you've just come from swimming in the sea." She hurried and got a dry, clean cloth. "If you let me, I'll dry you off." The mouse inched forward. Raja picked him up and set him on the palm of her hand. She went closer to the fire and gently patted the small creature with the cloth, hoping to warm him. "What is your name?"

Raja waited in silence, hoping that the mouse would deem her worthy to give her his name. "Oh! Well, it is nice to meet you, too, Moses."

------------------------------------------------

The next few nights the men heard ghostly wails rushing through the corridors and slipping under their doors like a foreboding mist. The cries never lasted too long, but they seemed to echo silently. They were like a sad song that whispered through a vast chasm of nothingness. A dark lullaby.

Every night Tristan expected those child phantoms to emerge from the lurid pitch of blackness. Before Raja came, he could slip in and out of sleep at will. Now, he couldn't fall asleep until he heard those laments of turmoil. It bothered him in a way that was difficult to describe, he not prone to feeling much of anything at all.

As Tristan listened - the rain falling in torrents outside - he would stare up at the ceiling, imagining the shadows from the crackling fire dancing in beat with those phantoms. They bothered him because they were so filled with torture and torment. It reminded him of fallen soldiers on the battlefield, crying out in pain from a fatal wound and their impending deaths.

Lancelot could not bear it any longer. He left the keep and went to sleep in an empty room in the barracks with the lower ranking officers. He'd bolted out of bed the first night he heard those sounds, his head pounding furiously. The wench next to him had screamed and clutched his bare flesh in fright. He had shaken her off to stop and listen, and - ignoring her protests – left the room, following the sound that led to his cousin's door. Even Arthur, Dagonet and Bors had gone out of their quarters in curiosity. They all had looked at each other, realizing there was much more to the little girl than they knew.

-------------------------------------------------

As the weeks went by, Ardeth took Raja around the fortress, introducing her to some of the people he was acquainted with. She took to Jols, the Head Groom. Raja and Ardeth took rides, Raja sitting in front of her uncle holding Moses, as Lord Ra, his horse, trotted over the vast, green grounds and through the forests. There were so many clear streams and waterfalls that she felt she was in an Oasis.

On the days when little rain fell, her uncle would take her to the training grounds to watch them drill. They sparred with wooden swords, circular shields held by their less dominant arm. Her cousin, Lancelot, was a cocky fighter. He always had a sly grin on his face when he was besting somebody. All of them, save Tristan, spewed friendly curses at

one another. Raja would sit on a bale of hay and watch. Sometimes her uncle stepped in and demonstrated better tactics for them to utilize. The Egyptian was a war veteran.

Raja and Moses would cheer from the sidelines for her uncle. The entire scene fascinated her. There was one soldier who particularly caught her attention. The scout, Tristan. He was quiet and reserved, and even as he sparred he had a calculating, almost deadly, stance about him. He never used a shield. He bested every one of them save for Ardeth.

One day, Raja's uncle took her to the archery fields where the men were already practicing. Her small bow looked a toy compared to their own long bows. Her uncle's African long bow was almost twice the size of her. They greeted her as she took her place across from one of the targets. Hers was 20 yards away, the others had theirs placed at least 50 yards away or more. Raja had already nocked her arrow and was waiting for her uncle's instructions.

"All right, Raja," he said. "Remember to keep your feet shoulder width apart and your arms steady." He nodded as she did so, but helped her straighten so it was just right. "Try to pull the bowstring all the way to your chin, and make sure your index finger is touching your chin as well."

Raja was concentrating on every little thing. The tip of her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes were slits and her brow was furrowed in deep concentration. She was aware that the others were watching her. When she was ready, she released the arrow, hitting the archery target to the upper left of the bull's eye. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"Poop," she mumbled glumly.

"Well done, Raja," Bors said for encouragement.

"You almost got it," Dagonet said.

"I missed," she said.

"Don't be discouraged, little one," Ardeth said. "Try again."

She sighed, but proceeded to follow every step as she had previously done. This time, she focused completely on the painted circle on the target. She let loose the arrow, and had not realized she'd hit the bull's eye until there was cheering around her. Raja gaped at her achievement and beamed at her uncle.

"I did it!" she said.

"_Shughlak tamam_, Raja," he said.

The Egyptian girl glowed under her uncle's praise. She practiced some more and watched as her uncle hit the bull's eye with all of his twelve arrows. His target was 60 yards away.

"Split one down the middle, Uncle Ardeth!" she said, having seen him do it before. "Please?" she added.

He nocked a final arrow and took aim, making it seem so easy. One of the arrows splintered down the middle. Raja clapped and the other men awed at the Egyptian.

"Can _you_ do that, Tristan?" Bors poked at the man who was the best archer out of them all.

The scout only glared at him.

All the arrows were collected and placed back in their quivers. They walked back through the west gate and into the rear room of the armory. Raja approached Tristan.

He felt a tug on his coat and looked down, but said nothing.

"You're very good," Raja said.

Tristan gave an "hmm" which she took as a thank you. He went back to putting away his equipment, but realized after a moment that the small girl was still standing next to him – watching. He peered around him to see if Ardeth was still in the room, which he was, but he was speaking to Arthur.

He sighed. "Your uncle is over there."

"I know," she replied. She tilted her head to the side, wondering what this person reminded her of.

"No use trying to conversate with this one," Lancelot interjected. "He is as lone as they come."

Tristan turned steadily to Lancelot. "Remember who the better fighter is, Lancelot." He walked away.

Lancelot waved off the warning and turned back to his cousin. "Careful. He's from the Iazyges tribe. Blood-thirsty, you know?" His lips curved into something between a smirk and a smile when his cousin's eyes opened wide. "Those tattoos on his cheeks? Know what they mean?"

She shook her head. Tristan had a pair of black slashes on each of his cheeks.

"Those tattoos are a sign of manhood in the Iazyges tribe. They get to manhood by a first kill."

Raja gasped. "They kill animals?!"

He found her mortification amusing, pushing away the niggling piece of guilt for needling her on purpose. "No. By killing a person."

"Ohhh," she said. "But...I think he's nice." And she did. Nice, if not a bit lonely. No one knew it – except for her uncle – but she had been following Tristan around for the past few weeks. He was usually alone, only occasionally partaking in conversation with the other soldiers.

"Wolves are nice compared to him," he replied. When she remained quiet, he realized she was staring at him again. It also came to him that he was bantering with a little girl. Acutely uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and mumbled something about having work to do.

"Wait, Lottie." She caught up with him.

"Lottie?" he inquired, nonplussed.

"Mmm-hmm. Will you sit with me before my bedtime?"

He opened and shut his mouth, unable to find the words to express his utter bafflement at the desecration of his name. What had he done to deserve such a thing? Children!

----------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, his duties completed, they sat across from one another in her room. It was almost her bedtime, so he knew how much time he had and would not have to come up with poor reasons to excuse himself from the room. Lancelot cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the armrest. By the gods, even after all these weeks she still put him ill at ease. Not to mention that she continued to call him "Lottie." The fact that a child was able to make him uncomfortable was absurd. The way she fixed her gaze at him made him fidgety. He wondered what it was like for her – to see him most everyday when he resembled her dead father so much.

Despite all that, he could not help but be curious of this blood-cousin of his. The only sound in the quiet room was the snapping fire, the plopping of raindrops against the

windows and the occasional blusters of a rabid wind.

Finally, he had to mention something that had been on the tip of his tongue for days: "Are you aware that you have a mouse on your head?"

Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, her lips curving into that slight grin of hers. "This is Moses," she said, the words pronounced carefully. "Moses," - she rolled her eyes upwards - "this is my cousin, Lancelot."

He said nothing for several moments. She was introducing him to a mouse as if it knew what she was saying. And how those words "my cousin" had rolled off her tongue so simply. He only cleared his throat, not able to greet the animal sitting on her head.

Raja took Moses into her hands and stroked him gently. "I make you uncomfortable," she stated, her voice whispery soft with dismay.

"No," he denied uncertainly.

But was that entirely true? This fey-like child. Sitting on a chair that dwarfed her, her long black hair hanging free around her shoulders. Her gray eyes too big for her face, with the hint of dark shadows underneath. She was in her cotton breeches and a blue nightshift, a blanket over her lap. Her tiny feet – adorned in thick socks, the one on the left slightly off the toes, folding down so it flopped when she moved – dangling over the edge of the chair.

"That's okay," she replied, not really believing him. "But look." She set Moses on the armrest and took her father's dragon amulet from underneath her nightgown.

Lancelot merely gaped at the trinket. It was the same one as his father had given him the day he left Sarmatia. It brought memories back, good ones and painful ones.

"My _baba_ said that your _baba_ had one, too." Her eyes looked at him expectantly, hoping to share this connection.

He took his out from underneath his vest, holding it up by the thread of twine. Raja gazed at it as if it were an ancient treasure. Slowly, her mouth spread into a wider grin, her teeth almost showing. She pulled her blanket aside and scrambled off of the chair. Her cousin was taken aback when she insinuated herself on his lap. She put her dragon amulet next to his.

"They're almost the same," she said. Raja looked up at his face, a twinkle in her eyes. "See?"

"I see," he replied, one side of his mouth twitching into a smile. It had been so long since he'd had a pure moment of idleness. Nothing to do with war, weapons or wenches vying for his carnal attentions.

Ardeth had appeared in the doorway just as his niece grinned. At first he thought he was imagining things, but, no, Raja was smiling wider than he had seen in so very long. It still did not quite reach her eyes, but there it was. A spark of something coming back to life inside of her. And maybe Lancelot, too.

Lancelot saw the Egyptian first. Irrationally embarrassed to have been caught in a tender moment, he wanted to pull back from the instant, but could not think of a way to do so without hurting his cousin's feelings or appearing a cold-hearted bastard.

"Look, Uncle Ardeth!" Raja held up her trinket and pointed to Lancelot's. "They're almost the same."

Ardeth smiled at her and walked further into the room. He had not failed to notice the flush of diffidence on the young man's face.

"Ah, but I think it is time for bed, little one," Ardeth said.

"But..." Her lips pressed together in timid defiance. Ardeth had only to merely tip his head to the side and she quieted with a gentle nod. "Okay..."

When she got off of his lap, Lancelot immediately stood, ready to quit the room and let the overhaul of long buried emotions simmer back into their rightful place – deep inside. He felt Raja tug on his vest. "Hmm?"

Raja said nothing, but only raised her arms for a hug.

Hesitantly, he bent down and embraced her, feeling her small, fragile bones beneath her nightgown.

"Goodnight, Lottie," she said.

He bit back his protests at that dandifying nickname. "Night," he said. He spoke the same to Ardeth and left the room.

-----------------------------------------------------

For the past week or so, Tristan had felt like someone was following and watching him. Around the keep – yet he heard no footsteps. When he was by himself on the archery field. Or walking anywhere in the vicinity of those locations. Whoever was secretly tagging along never went far.

In the stables, he continued to brush Dyne, his horse. The back of his neck tingled. The same feeling he got when he sensed the Celts nearby in the dark woods during a mission. The scout had an inkling of who might be following him – but would she dare? He had not caught sight of her...yet.

Raja watched the enigmatic man brush his beautiful horse. When he had not been there she had introduced herself to the big steed that had nuzzled her head in return. She knew the gray-white horse was named Dyne. A beautiful name she thought. All the other steeds and mares were so wonderful, as well. Jols was very nice, and did not mind that she often spent time here. She liked the smell of the place. The smell of horses invaded her nostrils, sweetness of hay, the tang of urine, lumber, saddle leather, and the ripe odor of manure even though the stables were mucked out regularly.

The small girl stood on the very tips of her toes in an empty stall. Only her eyes, the crown of her head and the fingers that pressed on the top of the stall door, were visible.

After Lancelot had told her that Tristan was "blood-thirsty" she'd asked her uncle about it. Her uncle had told her that Tristan was a man who liked his space and rarely spent his free time with others. But he was not to be feared, he assured her. And her uncle's word was truth. And, no, this man did not frighten her – because he reminded her of home. The warmth of Egypt. His clothes were well worn, his coat frayed at the hem and cuffs, his boots worn-in and dirty. The colors of the fabrics were earthy tones – light and dark browns, deep greens, hues that made her think of home. He was graceful in his movements, like the flow of the Nile. Steady and lasting as a pyramid, one looked up and up until one met his golden-brown eyes - piercing as the hot sun that shone among blue skies – able to drive away the clouds even in a place like Britain.

Tristan turned his head a slight fraction, his mussed tresses covering his eyes. The tingling on the back of his neck had increased. In his one movement, he finally caught her. The small creature that had been shadowing him for weeks. He saw her from the eyes and up, the distinct figure of a mouse lazing on the crown of her head.

_Sneaky_, he thought.

He smirked. He coughed falsely, the sound loud in the quiet stables. Tristan put the brush away and patted Dyne on the head. He noticed that she had hidden herself once again. Casually, he walked to the other side of the building where she hid. He leaned against the end of the wall that separated one stall from another, his legs and arms crossed. Tristan procured an apple from his pocket and a dagger from his boot and began to eat neatly shaved slices of his apple.

After the count of four slices, he heard a small voice. A voice that still had a lilt of someone much younger.

"Hello."

He turned and looked down. She stared up at him, the mouse having relocated to her shoulder. Her clothes and hair were rumpled and were covered in a few bits of hay. The stall door was taller than her, she must have been straining to peer over it. Her gray eyes were guileless. An innocence he rarely, if ever, encountered anymore.

"You've been following me," he returned, slicing off another piece of his apple.

She said nothing. She stood there, an honest curiosity adorning her features. Why did he have a feeling she saw a lot more than he gave her credit for?

"I got locked in," she said.

Tristan's gaze narrowed. His eyes flicked to the latch on the stall, and, indeed, it had fallen shut. He pushed himself off the wall with a fluid motion and lifted the latch, opening the door for her.

Raja walked out. "Thank you," she said.

Tristan only tipped his head to the side – something he did often in lieu of speaking – in acknowledgment. He walked back to Dyne and fed the horse the rest of his apple.

She pitter-pattered after him. "I'm Raja," she said, holding out her small hand for shaking.

"I know," he answered. But that wide-eyed wonder still masked her face, until finally, he sighed, and shook her hand. "Tristan."

Raja clasped tightly to his index finger, not letting him go. His arm tensed, then went slack, just letting her hold onto him. Her mannerisms were so odd. But maybe it had something to do with what made her cry at night, he thought. Clinging to her uncle like a vise, toting animals around with her like talismans that could ward off evil forces.

Reluctantly, she let his finger go. "It's nice to meet you, Trissy."

What in the god's name? "_Tristan_," he stressed his name.

Raja ignored him. "This is Moses," she told him, plucking the mouse off her shoulder and holding him up to Tristan. "Moses, this is Trissy."

He was rendered silent more for the fact that she continued to use that awful nickname, than the fact that he was being introduced to a mouse.

"Don't you like animals?" she asked.

"I suppose."

"Me too. They make good friends, don't they?"

He cocked an eyebrow and raised one shoulder imperceptibly.

"Do you have any friends?"

Not really, no, he might have said. He wasn't close to anyone, even after being here for nearly eight years. They died too quickly. A warrior could attach himself to another as much as he wanted, but by caring, you ran the risk of hurting. How many times could you stand there watching brethren die on foreign soil? How many times could you attend a funeral in that pathetic graveyard reserved for Sarmatians?

"I like my space," he finally answered.

Raja took a step away from him, which made him half-grin. Just then, thunder rumbled and a crack of lightning snapped in the sky.

Raja yelped and Moses crawled under the shoulder of her coat. Fear made her pupils dilate.

Tristan saw her shaking, heard a small whimper escaping her lips. He didn't deal in comforting people, and now he didn't know what to do. Did he leave a scared girl in a strange place by herself? _Damn._

But like a glorious reprieve, Ardeth entered the stables, as if he had sensed his niece's discomfort from afar.

"She is not quite used to all this rain," Ardeth said to him as he picked up Raja. He soothed her shivering body with gentle pats on her back.

After a moment or two, she calmed. "I introduced him to Moses," Raja said to her uncle.

"Did you then, little one?" Ardeth grinned at Tristan, certain the lone scout was not used to being in the company of children. "What were you doing, Raja? You are covered in hay."

"Moses was hiding and I went to find him. He was in that stall there." She pointed. "Then, the door closed behind me and locked. But Trissy came and saved me."

Tristan was grateful Ardeth did not comment on the "Trissy" bit. And neither did he, it seemed fruitless.

"I hope you thanked him," Ardeth said.

"I did." Raja said something else to her uncle in her native tongue, - what she said seemed to surprise her uncle - then turned back to Tristan. "Would you like to have lunch with me?"

Ardeth gave him a look that said he did not have to; no offense would be taken if he declined.

When Tristan did not reply, she said, "That's all right." Her face crumpled in disappointment. "Maybe another day." She turned her head and rested it on Ardeth's shoulder.

Tristan heard her sniffle. Her tone made him feel guilty."Sure," he said.

"Really?" Her voice was doubtful, but hopeful.

"Yeah."

----------------------------------------------------

Raja was pleased that Tristan had agreed to have lunch with her. They sat in the same room where she had been introduced to all the Sarmatians. The table was set by the windows. She was boosted on her high-backed chair by a thick cushion. She was served vegetable soup and peppermint tea. Tristan had meat, soup, and a mug of ale for him. There was a platter of sliced, buttered bread and fresh fruit. Moses was on her shoulder eating a piece of bread.

It was a comfortable silence they ate in. Outside, it had stopped drizzling. Raja ate daintily, and when she took sips of her tea she held her mug with two hands.

"Do you know the story of Moses?" she asked in the middle of their meal.

"Are you Christian?" he asked.

"No. My _baba_ was Pagan. But," – she scratched her head in contemplation – "_Baba_, _Walida_ and me did not have a...erm...I don't know how to say it."

"I get it."

"But the story is really good." Without waiting for his consent, she launched into the tale.

The Pharaoh had ordered that all male Hebrew children be killed by drowning in the Nile. Moses' mother saved him, and the boy was adopted into the Pharaoh's Egyptian family.

Raja continued narrating about how Moses saw the abuse of a Hebrew slave and killed the Egyptian slave-driver, then buried him in the sand. He thought no one knew of the affair, but the next day he witnessed two Hebrews fighting, and one of them began to make fun of Moses for what he had done. Moses was afraid that the Pharaoh would kill him for what he had done, so he ran away into the desert and saved seven women. The father of the women gave Moses one of the women in gratitude, and they got married. After time went by, one day, Moses was walking with his flock and met a burning bush.

"The bush wasn't_really_ burning though," she said. "It was only on fire."

It was God. And God told Moses that he had to save the Hebrews from slavery. So Moses did that. But the Pharaoh would not let his people go. So then Moses gave the Pharaoh ten plagues until he let the Hebrews go.

When she got to the part about Moses parting the Red Sea and leading the Hebrews through the desert for forty years, Tristan snorted derisively and said: "He should have known where he was going."

Raja paused in a moment of almost comical silence. Then she burst into peals of giggles, her head tilting back, mouth opened to reveal her teeth. Her gray eyes glittered with genuine mirth. Tristan was stunned, catching a glimpse of the little girl she had probably been before her parents died. Her laughter was so infectious that his own lips curved into a smile as well, which turned into a chuckle. He could not remember the last time he had laughed so freely. Their merriment died down, the sparkles dissipated from Raja's eyes. Tristan saw that she seemed almost tired from laughing. It must have taken a lot to push away those dark demons of hers, even if only for a few moments.

Raja rubbed her eyes and went on: "But after everything the Hebrews went through, they finally got to the Promised Land. And they were free."

------------------------------------------------------------

The Sarmatians had been gone for three weeks. They had orders to escort a group of monks to another fort. It was quiet without them around. By now, she had no misgivings about spending time with them. While they were absent, Ardeth continued to school her in her studies. At night, while he read to her, she would knit socks.

A few days after the three week mark, loud trumpets sounded the arrival of the return of the Sarmatians. She was scared at first, thinking that someone was attacking the fortress. It took a spell to calm her, but Ardeth eventually got her to ease. He took her out to the courtyard, the socks she knitted in hand. Standing by the door of the keep, Raja saw them dismount. They were dirty and - she squinted - their faces and armor were splattered with speckles of blood. The light raindrops were not enough to wash the stigma of violent crimson away.

Raja watched as the inhabitants of the fortress stood in awe at them. There they were, gawking at the men in bloody armor as if they were gods. Did they not see the blood? The weariness in their eyes and bodies? Did they not know what it was like to have someone else's blood on their skin? They did not see human men. They only saw warriors having come back from an apparent victorious battle. But the only victory of it was that they were alive.

Raja clutched the five bundles of socks to her chest as the men walked towards the door. She stepped forward, holding out the first pair to Arthur.

"Socks," she said. "Clean ones."

Arthur smiled. Thanks went to her when they each received their pair, even Tristan grinned.

"Ah, now my feet won't be as cold as a witch's tit tonight!" Bors exclaimed.

Raja turned to her uncle. "What's a tit?"

--------------------------------------------------------------

From his study, Ardeth could see the corral where his niece was sitting in front of the horses. He laughed to himself when she raised her hands in the air, the smile clear on her face. The other men were riddled with mirth, too. The Egyptian's heart warmed, and he was relieved to know it had been a good decision to bring Raja here. How she had begun to truly heal here. The demons of hers would never be fully exorcised, but his little niece was strong, her heart and soul too filled with love and care for others that no evil could withstand such innocence for long. Sparks of life were even being ignited in the Sarmatians. Especially in Lancelot and Tristan. They had changed in the past months, as well. For the better.

---------------------------------------------------------------

When Tristan walked into the stables, the first thing he noticed was the dearth of horses.

Jols entered the stables from the back door that led to the corral. The Head Groom was laughing. "You have to see it for yourself," he said to Tristan.

Tristan stepped out the back door. The rest of the men were idling around. In the middle of the corral, directly under the savory sun, the horses were settled down on their sides in a repose of relaxation. Raja was sitting in front of them on a blanket, Moses on her head. The breeze carried her musical voice to his ears.

"Do you believe this?" Lancelot said to no one in particular. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Yet, there was a light of good-natured bewilderment in his dark eyes.

She was telling the horses the story of Moses. He sat down on a bale of hay against the wall, transfixed at the sight of the steeds on the ground, like children listening to a bedtime story.

In between parts of the story, Raja would play a short tune from her _nei_. Sometimes the melody was dramatically happy or somber depending on which part of the tale she was at.

Then, four words were spoken louder than the rest, and when she said them her arms went up in the air, up to the blue, sunny sky. "Let my people go!" she proclaimed.

Tristan smiled wide, a light chuckle sounding that mingled with the cheer of the others.

"Holy hell," Bors said. "I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages, Tris!"

Tristan offered him a sneer that did not carry the usual venomous air.

"Who'd have thought it'd take a little girl to render him human," Lancelot said. "Or partially human, rather."

"What about you?" Arthur said.

"Don't you have some wenches to entertain?" Bors added.

"He'd rather listen to a story, apparently," Tristan said.

Lancelot scoffed. "It's too early for wenches."

Dagonet shushed them.

"Let my people go!" Raja called again.

Her face was turned up to the sun, its ethereal light warming her. She had woken up to cerulean blue skies that morning, so blue she thought she had been dreaming. A long time ago, her _baba_ had told her that it never rained all the time. It had been during a winter in Egypt. That time when the heavens would cry their hefty tears. Flooding the Nile's heart to saturate the Black Lands, nurturing the soil to bring nourishment to the peoples' souls. And when the heaven's tears would cease, the sun came out to quell the gloom. The soil would be green and enriched, going for miles and miles until the gold of the desert appeared, and then even further to a hereafter of sweet sovereignty. Because even if the sun is shielded by the clouds and you cannot see it, does not mean it is not shining. And no matter how dark the night, morning always comes.

_It won't rain all the time  
The sky won't fall forever.  
And though the night seems long,  
your tears won't fall, your tears won't fall,  
your tears won't fall forever._

_-Jane Siberry_


End file.
